Threads
A short story about Icarus Juniper growing up, told in second person. Actual Story You try to keep this family together. You’re six, Playstation controller in hand. Your father’s voice drones in the background, a mindless hum. “Junipers,” he says. “Don’t you understand we’re always been a broken lot. There’s no use fixing what always falls apart.” Your mind had focused on Spyro and Crash Bandicoo, but those words still rested there, somewhere. You don’t remember your mother. You see photos – a smiling, joyous young woman. You hear stories – one of the greatest violinists to grace the army of a symphony orchestra. This face, those stories, your mind tries to connect that to your past, you try to find meaning in them. Still, you feel nothing, an empty silence, abyss. Your father, however, will always stand out. You recall the stink of alcohol, his body passed out on the couch, the slow decline of music quality. Harmonies and chords danced waltzes and sonatas and rondos around the empty rooms of the large house, and overtime, all they reduced to noise. An unpleasant groan of strings and percussion, an inexpressible cry for help. But there’s always someplace else. Suburbs away, in a house just as rich and large and spacious and empty. A sharp-faced woman, always lively and cheerly, is there to welcome you and listen. Her husband pours you hot chocolate and juice and hands you plates of cookies without hesitation. Jokes and jests chime from him. Their son, loud and energetic, treats you like a brother, climbing trees with you and beating you in video games. To your Aunt Marlene, you’re not an outsider, not a burden, not a weight. You have a place in these cream walls and modern architecture, but you never did in that browning, baroque house. It was her who paid for piano lessons, her at parent-teacher conferences, her who listened to your first attempts at poetry. Her who taught you to ride a bike. Her who sat there, listening to you aimlessly ramble about what you didn’t know how to say. It’s your eighth summer, and her– no, your family takes you across Europe. “Your son?” a local asks your aunt. It might have been a mere gesture of convenience, but you can’t help but grin when she says yes. You learn her quirks. The sarcastic twitch of her upper lip, the smug way she crosses her arms. There is no one you admire more. No one so dedicated and disciplined and diligent. You try to emulate her, as she is the best you know. You’re eleven. You see your father again, and this time you speak properly. “I hope my sister hasn’t influenced you,” he says. You don’t know what he means. You frown and think carefully about your father as you did with your mother. No void, just silent, contained anger. He talks, long words you don’t know, but the message was clear. You are a fairytale and you have a legacy to preserve. A legacy rooted into your family. At first, you’re hesitant. You’ve stopped seeing your father as family, you don’t care much for preservation. Then, you stop. Auntie’s son, your cousin, is alongside with you as you take on this destiny. More than anything, they are your family. At age 16, you stand in front of your whole school, pen in hand, and vow to protect your family by signing your life away. The future looks bright – friends, good grades, a steady potential musical career. That all falls to pieces. Your family means the world to you, stitched together with care and hope. A potential fault in your destiny arises. Like knife through fabric, it tears the soft cotton. Marlinchen. You think of a girl generations ago. Stuck in the midst of a feud between mother and brother, she used her loyalty and compassion to pull the threads of her family together. Through centuries, the Junipers have always frayed, but utter devotion from their Marlinchen children brought them back. You are not destined for Marlinchen. You know that. You also know that you were raised by the previous Marlinchen. A Marlinchen defying the personality of a predecessors, but one who had served her role well nonetheless. A Marlinchen who was a better parent than your father ever was, or will be. You are Marlinchen’s child. You try to keep this family together. Category:Fanfiction Category:Original Character Fanfiction Category:Branches, Birches and Junipers Category:Branches Side Arch